


Ogygia

by TrishaCollins



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Calypso is a crazy person, The Dutchman serves, The space between your heart and your head, using my mythology minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishaCollins/pseuds/TrishaCollins
Summary: Being the captain of the Dutchman is 95% boredom, and 5% torment.





	Ogygia

The dark water of the end of the world was a familiar, soothing slosh as he made his way through his nightly duties. 

He hummed absently to himself, nodding to his crew as they went around their tasks. 

The bobbing lanterns in the dark water had long since stopped making him uncomfortable, just like the empty, hollowed out feel of his chest had become familiar. 

The curse rested - for the most part - easy on his shoulders, fueled by the laughter of his mistress and the love of his family. He had spent twenty years accepting it, letting it burn into his soul. A lifetime was what he would have, so it would be better to let it be rather than struggle like a dog on a chain. 

Calypso had told him shortly after he had taken the Dutchman for his own that his heart would never belong to her entirely, so she would curse him, just a little. So that all might know he was hers in spirit, even if not as joyfully as she expected.

That too had settled and eased within him, and he passed many long hours conversing with the spirit of the sea. Often, he had to acknowledge, about his son. But there were other nights, darker nights, when the sea raged and the Dutchman raged with it. He was her captain. The Dutchman turned into her, and so too did he. 

"Deep thoughts, Captain? You seem far away." He father remarked, hands resting gently on the wheel as he guided them through the dark.

"No deeper than any other night, I saw soldiers bobbing along, muttering to themselves. Quite a number tonight." He leaned on the rail, peering down at the men. "I wish they would better organize their final thoughts, so we might be apprised of any news they bring." 

"One can ask too much of the newly departed." His father responded with a chuckle. "See any you might mark for yours?"

"Not a soul tonight." He walked along the rail, peering down at them, considering each. There was an oddness to his vision now, he could get a sense of the weight of the souls he guided. What sort of life they might have led, their regrets. It helped him guide them to the right ending.

"That Turner boy, never liked him, can't trust the...." One of the soldiers was muttering, hands on either side of his boat.

He paused, listening until the loop started again.

"If it weren't for that Turner boy." One of the other men muttered. 

Alarmed, he searched the boats for Henry's face, but there was no sign of his son. He did not allow himself to breath yet, and instead jumped from the side of the boat, landing lithely on the dark waters. 

His father groaned above him, but did not do more than that to protest.

He walked closer to the boats, circling them thoughtfully, taking long looks at each occupant. 

"Henry knew." A younger lad whispered. "Should have listened to Henry."

"What did Henry know?" He questioned the spirit. 

The boy focused on him briefly, confusion fluttering briefly over his face. "We shouldn't go in. There was something waiting for us. It killed me. Should have listened to Henry."

"What was waiting?" What had his son got himself into this time. 

"Something was waiting. It killed me. Should have listened to Henry." 

He sighed, and walked along the row of boats, searching them for his son, making certain that they did not lead his son to the afterlife. When he was absolutely certain that his son was not in the water, he returned to the Dutchman, pressing his hand to her helm and leaning his head against the wood. 

"William Turner." She rolled his name around her mouth, claiming each syllable like she owned it. Which, he supposed, she did.

He offered a shallow bow. "What has he found this time?"

She chuckled. "Trouble. As always." Her fingers traced along the beads around her neck, her small form shifting next to him, eyes looking far away. "He has freed it, that darkness. That malice." 

"Is he alive?" He asked, concerned. 

"Henry will not die in the sea, William. I have told you this." 

He sighed deeply. "You know that does little to ease my spirit." 

She shot him a look full of dark amusement, tracing her finger over the rail. "The boy will find a Sparrow, and I imagine you will see him again soon enough."

"See him?" That registered first, it took another moment for the rest of her statement to permeate. "Not...."

She cackled. "He did much for you. Saved you, killed you. He will do much for that child of yours."

He brought a hand to his face, stiffing a groan. 

"Henry will not die on the sea, William. Trust in that." She touched his wrist, and swayed up to her toes to kiss him, sealing the promise between them. 

To hold her was an agony of conflicting impulses. She was the sea made flesh, and he was the captain of the Dutchman. His entire being was drawn to her, desperately in love with her. His heart, far away, had very little say in this matter, for as much as it wanted to push her away, what she offered, he could only take. 

She cradled his face in her hands, a frame of dark skin. "You have tasks to see to tonight."

He nodded, swallowing back the conflicting bile and longing. "I do."

She kissed him again, a hungry mouth that threatened to pull him in, despite his best impulses. That was what she did, what she always did. He could not truly fight her, and she knew it. It was unfair, even though he had accepted it. Her hand slid beneath his shirt, pressing with a searing heat to the scar. For a moment, it was as though her pulse beat within him. 

She drew back with a flick of her skirts. "I will meet you at dawn." She purred, and stepped over the side to vanish in the sea mist. 

A capricious, jealous goddess who wanted him for hers and would accept no other answer. 

Not even Odysseus had resisted her forever, he had only fled to land. 

The one place he could not go. 

He pressed a hand to his chest, sealing eyes and mouth closed as he struggled to find his center again. 

"Will?" His father's voice was worried.

He looked up, unthinking, and something of his dismay must have shown in his gaze.

Bill's face contorted briefly with a disgust he would not name, and then he moved quickly to join him. One arm settled around his shoulders, squeezing him close. "There now, lad, only a bit of wind. It will soon pass." 

It had none of the seductive, torturous warmth that Calypso's had, but it helped him find his center again.


End file.
